A 






1 ^> ■ * V 

^ * .0 h ° V ^ *> * 

v * v * ° - - 






^ 1 

*0< 



O ry) 

^ t* 63 5) •♦ .A" ^ 



s s A 













/V 













^■\ >%, 




o 






*c 



HEATH FLOWERS, 



OR 



iSfcroutaiu i^telolrfes; 



AMATORY, LYRICAL, AXD ROMANTIC. 



BY 

GEORGE SCOTT, 



Sunt ct mthi carmina ; me quoque dicunt 
Vatem pastures ; scd nan ego credtdus Mis. 

Virgil 



EDINBURGH: 

PRIXTEB FOR THE AUTHOR j 

And Sold hy 

MACREDIE, SKELLY, AND CO, ; FAIRBAIRN AND ANDERSON J 
AND WILLIAM BLACkWOOD. 

1820. 



s*< 



y^ % 



^ 



\$U 



GIFT 
601^ 3AM ES s. CH; ; 
"*S^ JULY 26, 1944 



>>/ 



~X7 



TO 

JOHN PRINGLE, Esq. of Clifton, 

THE FOLLOWING 

POEMS 

ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 

AS 

A SMALL TESTIMONY OF GRATITUDE AND ESTEEM 

BY 

HIS MUCH OELIGED 

AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE. 



Neither the vain hope of emulating the far-famed 
Bards of the Scottish Border, — the extravagant ex- 
pectation of splendid pecuniary rewards, — nor the 
overweening luxury of self-gratulation, prompted 
the author to the rash measure of giving these lu- 
cubrations to the public. The blame must be 
charged upon the humiliating consequences of the 
insufficiency of that provision awarded by the legis- 
lature, to that meritorious class of the community, 
which ranks him as one of its members.* It is not 
with sentiments of pride, therefore, but rather of re- 
gret, that he commences his career of authorship, 
and unadvisedly, perhaps, launches forth 

*' Amongst th' adventurous rovers of the pen." 



* The Parochial Schoolmasters of Scotland, 



b PKEFACE. 

Never subjected to the critical revisal of a friend, 
these effusions (written at various times, and under 
many disadvantages,) now appear before the public 
with all their imperfections u thick upon them.'" 
Little attention has been paid to arrangement : Like 
the flowers of the desert, whose name they have 
perhaps too arrogantly assumed, — productions of va- 
rious hues and species, — the lays of love and of 
war, — the song, the ballad, and the ode, have been 
blended together in casual or studied contrast. 

To his friends who so kindly exerted themselves 
in promoting the circulation of the work, the author 
returns his most grateful thanks. 

Sufficiently indifferent as to consequences, — too 
proud to apologize, — and too conscious of the infe- 
rior merits of this production, to entitle him to form 
any pretensions, he disdains all fictitious methods 
towards conciliating the favour of the critic •, and 
firmly, yet with becoming diffidence, presents him- 
self before the tribunal of the public, in little dan- 
ger of being disconcerted by the severity of its cen- 
sure, and perhaps scarcely disposed to congratulate 
himself on the triumphs of its applause. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

The Land of the North 9 

MacLeod's Revenge 14 

The July Morning 27 

Fanny the Fair 30 

Allan and Mary 33 

Louisa, the Flower of the Tyne 45 

Red is the Rose 47 

Dryburgh Abbey 50 

Annette Paree 53 

Verses on seeing a Young Lady perform at a Provincial 

Theatre 60 

Fanny Rover; or, Colin's Invitation 64 

Rosabel; or, the Maniac 68 

The Song of Victory 71 

The Bud, addressed to Miss ***** **** 75 

The Maid of Roslyn 7S 

Verses on the Anniversary of Thomson's Birth-day 98 

The Lav of St. Waldave 101 



CONTEXTS. 



Love without Return 104 

Verses on the Birth-day of the Marquis of Beaumont . . . 108 
First Love; or, Early Recollections,—- a Reverie, in- 
scribed to Miss A — G — J 113 

O, tell me why ., 118 

The Gush of the Fountain 121 

Love lies Bleeding, addressed to Flora 124 

Flora's Answer ; 125 

Julia 127 

The Rose 129 

To a Young Lady, (in allusion to the foregoing) 132 

The Blaze of Bewcastle 135 

The Bard's Apology 138 



HEATH FLOWERS. 



THE 



LAND OF THE NORTH. 



88 From Greece to Greenland's fey caves, 
No sky o'erhangs no ocean laves 
More beautiful a land." 



^.now \e the land where the breeze and the fountain 
Pour vigour and health o'er the realms of the brave \ 
here the cloud-piercing cliff, and the heath-cover' d moun- 

tain 
Frown distant and dark o'er the deep tossing wave ? 
now ye the land of the Seer's sad cell, 
le cave of the Druid, the Troubadour's shell, 
: know ye the grots where the sea-maidens dwell, 
The fay-haunted heath, or the wizzard's lone ^rave ?. 



10 THE LAND OF 



Know ye the land where the eagle's bold eyry 
Hangs dizzy and far o ? er the ravine below > 
Or the blue-bosom' d lake, where the traveller weary, 

Oft starts from the f kelpie, 1 the demon of woe ? 
Know ye the land of the shield-studded hall, 
The cairn of Lochlin, Selma's moss-cover'd wall, 
The dark narrow dwelling of mighty Fingal, 

Where the foot of the Banshie treads silent and slow ? 

Know ye the land ? — His the birth-place of Glory, 

The heath-bells her pillow, the mountain her throne 3 
She chose for a sceptre, the pine, tall and hoary 3 
Her banner, the meteors around her that shone. 
The pride of her strength was the hearts of each clan, 
Like the lightning of heaven on the foemen they ran, 
With tyranny's downfal her charter began, 
And from ages to ages she calls it her own. 

Hers are the glens where the " dun deer are roaming," 
The sable plumed bonnet, the chieftain's claymore, 

And hers the tall cliffs on which breakers are foaming, 
The harp of the minstrel, the cataract's roar. 



THF NOBTH. 11 



Know ye the land ? — it is freedom's domain, 
Where the haughty invader ne'er counted his slain, 
And the foe who once ventured, ne'er ventured again, 
For liberty, liberty, guarded the shore. 

That land is The North ! — 'tis the land of my fathers }— 
And there — the sweet breeze through the hawthorn that 
stole, 
The mantle of mist on the Eildons that gathers, 

The ' blaeberry' feast, and the white dasied knoll ; 
The hazel-clad * linn,' and the steep broomy i brae,* 
O'erlooking the Tweed, and yon Monast'ry grey j 
The lake, where the gold-spangled perch loves to play,— 
Oft pleased, in his wanderings, the bard's pensive soul. 

Land of the North ! — though the sweet birchen bower, 

Like the months that adorn it with verdure, fade fast - y 
Though the tempest's fair nursling, the gay desert flower, 

Still yields, through the summer, its cheek to the blast \ 
Though keen be the breezes that sweep o'er thy dells, 
And May's balmy breath of December eft smells, 
Though bleak be thy mountains, and barren thy fells, 
And simple and scant be thy peasants' repast ;— ■ 



■■ 



12 THE LAND OF 



Land of the North ! — yet the sun-beam of beauty, 

With rays of endearment enlivens each waste } 
Thy people are prompted by honour and duty } 

Thy youths are all brave, and thy maidens all chaste. 
Yet thine is the song, and the dance in the grove, 
And thine is the soft heaving bosom of love *, 
Thy dwellings the triumphs of innocence prove, 

While the learned and the brave thy proud annals have 
graced. 



] 



Land of the North ! — and long may'st thou nourish 
The clans, to the pibroch that gallantly strode } 

And long may thy emblem, the green thistle, flourish ; 
The turf, where " the foot of a slave never trode." 

May love's melting whispers be heard in each grot, 

And the prayer of the peasant ascend from each cot, 

May peace and content ever hallow the spot 

Where Religion and Freedom have fix'd their abode. 

Land of my sires ! — now hail to thee ever •, 

In the thunder of heaven thy own Genius swore, — 

M Thy heart shall not flag, and thy nerves shall not shiver," 
While the blasts of the north in thy sea-caverns roar- 



THE XOBTH. 



13 



Hail to thee, Albin ! — for, moor'd in the rock, 
Flames liberty's standard, the foemen to mock , 
And ne'er shall there fail thee, when called to the shock, 
A hand to protect thee, a heart to adore ! 



a 'J 



MACLEOD'S REVENGE. 



A numerous race, ere stern Macleod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode, 
When all in vain the ocean cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 

Lord of tin Isle* 



XVOTJSE the bold Islanders !— kindle the beacon-lights ! — 
Shall not Macleod be avenged of this wrong ? 
Tell warder and ally, 
Their vassals to rally, 
And hurry, ye heralds, the heroes along. 

Soldiers of Inisgall ! shades of my forefathers ! 
Leave not Macleod in the day of his power > 

Determine each mountaineer 

Dangers nor death to fear, 
While the dun skirts of the Scooreigg they scour. 



MACLEOD'S REVEXGE. 



15 



Dark scowl'd the brow of the hot-blooded highlander \ 
Dreadful the glance of his death-speaking eye } 
Stately the Seneschal 
Marshall' d the warriors all, 
Brilliant the banner-folds flare on the sky. 

From Dunskaich, Bornera, and hoary Dun-derig, 
From Skudborg, Dun-David, and wild Ornasay, 

The need-fires summon 

The vassals to come on, 
And woe to the warrior that warning would stay ! 

Why pants on Coolin yon fleet-footed messenger ? 
Bears he the signal of havock from far ? 

Approach not, thou stranger, 

That symbol of danger, 
The cross of Macleod, the dread emblem of war ! 

Onward they hie to the hall of their chieftain, 
From Sleate's rugged headland to Dunskeriness ; 
And, ere Snizort's mass was sung, 
Ere Ronay's matin rung, 
Hundreds of islesmen the portals did press. 



16 



Brightened the brow of the proud-hearted warrior, 
Glad was the glance of his wild-rolling eye, 

To see them so ready, 

Determined and steady, 
As bobbed in their bonnets the pine of the Skye. 

Red rose the sun on the mountains of Arisaig, 
Moored in the harbour the galley-boats lay , — 
On board see them flying, 
The oars now they're plying, 
And soon the bold armament distanced the bay. 

M Row, boatmen, row for the caves of Clan-Ronald, 
Nor billow dares murmur, nor mar you the wind % 
Spare aged nor beardless boy, 
Infant nor mother's joy, 
Xeave not a trace of Macdonald behind. 

" Row, vassals, row, to the anthem of Mego, 
The praises of heroes our pibrochs shall play \ 

Breathe death and defiance, 

The cause your reliance, 
c Revenge for Macleod !' be the cry of the day.*' 






macleod's revenge. 17 

Dark hung the mist on the ravines of Scooreigg, 

When Inistore's galleys frown' d thick on the shore ; 

Fled was the ruddy ray 

Dawn'd on that dismal day, 
Dawning that hundreds will welcome no more ! 

iDlsmal the cloud on the cliffs of Macdonald, 

And dismal the gloom on the death-destined clan : 
Yet surlier the breezes blew, 
Rougher the billows flew, 
Ere the dread work of destruction began. 

Hast thou e'er seen the black eagle of Ben'venu, 
Leaving his dizzy nest, pounce on the prey ? 
Hast thou by Kathrine's lake, 
Seen down Benledi break 
Hundreds of torrents their terrible way ? 

So — hurried, malignant, the mighty of Inisgall, 
Bursting o'er barrier-rock, mountain and dell 5 
Like blood-hounds close chasing, 
Each covert they're tracing, 
But cottage nor cliff of Macdonald could tell ! 



18 



MACLEOD'S REVENGE. 



Where were thy mountaineers, noble Clan-Ronald ? 

Why tarried thy galleys in Runin's dark bay ? 
Did not the smoky flame 
Towering to heaven, proclaim 

Havock on Scooreigg, and hopeless dismay ? 

Flew to each cabin now Skye's savage soldiery, 
Piled close the bossy targe, lance, and claymore 5 
Lurid the torches' glare, 
Dismal the fires' flare, 
Frown'd a black heap, was a cottage before ! 

Here — placed in sport, stood the bed of Macdonald, 
The cradle yet warm where his infant did lie j 
There, roof-tree and rafter, 
Midst cheerings and laughter, 
In one horrid furnace-pile blazed to the sky. 

" Now for the clan !" cries the eagle-eyed Allister ! 
" Trace but these foot-prints impressed on the sno^ 
Thus fate has inclined them, 
By Mary ! you'll find them, 
Man, woman, and child, in some cavern below. 1 ' 



MACLEOD'S REVENGE. 19 

; And now for my wrongs ! — in the thunder of vengeance 
Go teach them respect for Macleod and his clan y 
On ! ye brave mountaineers, 
Loud raise your victor-cheers, 
Then for the cavern's mouth foremost who can \ n 

!he dirge of M acdonald the pibrochs are pealing, 
As gaily the galley-boats dance o'er the wave ; 
The dirge of Macdonald, 
The knell of Clan-Ronald, 
And Inisgall joins in this horrible stave :— 

Saw ye yon murky cloud lowering on Inistore ? 
Saw ye the corse-candles flit o'er the wold ? 

Heard ye that heavy moan ? 

Deep draws that dying groan ! 
Dreed is their weird, as our seers have told ! 

Rise not thou moon ! till the wolf from his rocky bed, 
Safe in yon yawning cave raven his prey \ 

Their pale faces licking, 

Their bones sweetly picking, 
And bear the light arm of the infant away !" 



20 macleob's kevenge. 

Ha ! dost thou smile, mighty chieftain of Inisgall, 
Warble the war-notes so sweetly to thee ? 

Think of thy brother brave, 

Swallowed in Morror's wave, 
Little know'st thou of the death thou may 'st. dree ! 

u Here with the slaves-»-or their blood be upon you, — 
The slaves that insulted the lords of the Skye ' y 

Of home we've bereft you, 

No door-post is left you, 
Surrender— or here in one tomb shall ye lie !" 

;< Perish thy falsehood ! thou merciless reever \ 

The blame be Macleod's, — but the boon he now crave? 
Ere tamely we tender, 
Or basely surrender, 
Our bones here shall bleach by the roar of our waves ! 

11 Revenge for Macleod be the shout of our glory ! — 
By Woden ! they've passed but a comfortless night j 
That breckan-pile kindle \ 
The dance now shall mingle ; 
The smoke will enliven, and cheer them the light !" 



MACLEOD' S REVENGE. 21 

———■—a ■ ■ ■' ' ■'! ■ 

loud, wild and piercing the screams of the mothers m 7 
Sore, sore and heart-rending the babes' stifled wail !— 

" Should music be wanting," 

Cries Inisgall, vaunting, 
" To gladden their souls as they mount on the gale ?" 

)W, deep, loud and long peal'd the march of Dunvegan, 
And high rose the smould'ring smoke wreathed in the 
gloom 'y 

The sfea-caves resounding 

The death-cries confounding— 
Then hush'd was each voice as the sleep of the tomb ! — 

Bfspring of Roderick ! brighten'd thy savage brow ? 
Saw'st thou, in fancy, the babes of thy foe 

To mothers' breast frantic fly, 

Writhing in agony ? 
Gladden'd thy heart at Macdonald's last throe ! 

ursed be the coward heart, harder than adamant, 
Spurn'd the fond prayer of nature's last sigh 5 
c 



22 macleod's revenge* 



Cursed too the cruel hand 
Wielded the fatal brand, 
Help to the vanquished could sternly deny ! 

Chieftain, ha ! where the renown of thy chivalry ? 
Where the proud trophies to hang in thy hall ? 
The shades of Macdonald, 
The blades of Clan-Ronald, 
In visions of terror thy deeds will recah 

Splendid, Macleod, are the spoils of thy victory ! 
Glory shall blazon the roils of thy fame ! 
Daughters of Inistore, 
Say not who basely bore 
Through the deserted field havock and flame. 

Home with thee, warrior, — Coolin's red meteors, 
The dark heaving waves of the north, as they roll, 
The blasts of thy mountains, 
The dash of thy fountains, 
Sublime to the guiltless— bode ill to thv soul. 



macleod's revenge. 23 

I Hie thee home, warrior — naked are Scooreigg's walls, 
See if thy castle-towers longer endure } 
Cold, cold, yon cavern deep j 
Cruel the infants' sleep ; 
Think'st thou thy cradled-babe rests more secure ? 

Row, vassals, row with your chieftain exultingly ; 
Hurry, in triumph, to Dunvegan bay , 
'Midst victor-shouts rending, 
With martial notes blending, 
" Revenge fob Macleod be the cry of the day !" 



NOTES 



TO 



MACLEOD'S REVENGE. 



NOTE I. 

Shall not Macleod be avenged of this wrong ? — P. 14 
" The Macdonalds of the isle of Eigg, or Egg, a people de- 
pendent on Clan-Ronald, had done some injury to the Laird of 
Macleod. The tradition of the isle says, that it was by a personal 
attack on the Chieftain, in which his back was broken. But that 
pf the other isles bears, more probably, that the injury was offer- 
ed to two or three of the Macleeds, who, landing upon Eigg, and 
using some freedom with the young women, were seized by the 
islanders, bound hand and foot, and turned adrift in a boat, which 
the winds and waves safely conducted to Skye. To avenge the 
offence given, Macleod sailed with such a body of men, as ren- 
dered resistance hopeless. The natives, fearing his vengeance, 
concealed themselves in a cavern by the sea-side, of which there 
are scarcely any outward indications. After a strict search, the 
Macleods went on board their galleys, after doing what mischief 
they could, concluding the inhabitants had left the isle, and be- 



NOTES, 25 



taken themselves to some of Clan-Ronald's other possessions. 
But next morning they espied from the vessels a man upon the 
island, and immediately landing again, they traced his retreat by 
the marks of his footsteps, a light snow being unhappily on the 
ground. The subterraneous garrison having refused to deliver up 
to him the offending individuals, the Chieftain caused his people 
to divert the course of a rill of water which fell over the entrance 
of the cave : he then kindled a huge fire, composed of turf and 
fern, and maintained it with unrelenting assiduity, until all with- 
in, about 200 in number, were destroyed by suffocation. The 
rude and stony bottom of this cave is strewed with the bones of 
men, women, and children the sad relics of this dreadful deed of 
feudal vengeance." — See Lord of the Isles, Canto IV. Note 5. 

NOTE II. 

While the dun skirts of the Scooreigg tlicy scour.— P. 14. 
Scooreigg is a remarkably high and barren ridge which tia- 



XOTE III. 

From Dunskaieh, Bornera, and hoary Dun-derig. — P. 15. 
Amongst the antiquities of Skye are many ruins of forts, com- 
monly supposed to be Danish. Some of these are enumerated in 
this and other stanzas, and are all named Duns, 

NOTE IV. 

The cross of Macleod, the dread emblem of war. — P. 15. 
The Fiery Cross was a token made use of by the ancient high- 
land chieftains in order to expedite and insure the rising of their 
respective clans in cases of emergency. After having its extre- 
mities burnt in the fire, and extinguished in the blood of a goat, 
killed for the purpose, (emblematical of those who failed to appear 
c2 



26 NOTES. 



at the warlike signal being doomed to suffer the extremities of fire 
and sword,) this cross was delivered to a swift and trusty messen- 
ger, who ran with it, with the utmost speed to the next hamlet, 
where he presented it, with a single word, implying the place of 
rendezvous. He who received the significant token, was bound 
to send it forward with equal dispatch to the next village, and 
thus it passed with incredible velocity through the whole district. 
The movements of this tremendous visitor, (from whose call there 
was no appeal,) are admirably depicted in the Third Canto of the 
Lady of the Lake ; and, in a Note to that Canto, it appears that 
the bloody symbol often made its circuit so late as the Rebellion 
in 1 745-6. Upon one occasion, it is said to have passed through 
the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of thirty- two miles, in 
three hours ! 

NOTE V. 

■- i ■ Ere Snizorfs mass was sung.—- P. 15. 
The water of Snizort, about a quarter of a mile before it falls 
mto the ocean, forms a small island, on which are the ruins of an 
old cathedral, formerly the metropolitan church of the isle of Syke. 

NOTE VI. 
Row, vassals, row, to tJie anthem of M ego. — P. 16. 
The small but beautiful island of Inis-Fraoch, or Fraoch-Elain, 
in Loch Aw, Argyllshire, was, in ancient times, the Hesperides 
of the country ; and the fatal attempt of Fraoch has been handed 
down from age to age in a beautiful Celtic tale, after the manner 
of Ossian. The fair Mego longed for the delicious fruit of the isle, 
guarded by a dreadful serpent Fraoch, who had long loved the 
maid, went to gather the fruit ; but by the rustling of the leaves 
the serpent was awaked from his sleep, and attacked the hero, 
who perished in the conflict. The monster also was destroyed* 
but Mego did not long survive the death of her lover. 



THE JULY MORNING. 



" Her gentle bosom knows no guile ; 
Pure as the snow-drop in the valley, 

Her cheeks they glow with roseate hue, 
The village pride, my little Sally." 



On morn of July's gay eighteen, 

\\ hen skirting down the hedge-row alley, 
In Sunday robes so trig and clean, 

I met my young, my sprightly Sally. 
The Graces wanton' d in her smile, 

Where Cupid for the field was arming, 
No courtly dame, nor woodland nymph, 

Wf^ ever heard of half so charming. 



28 



THE JULY MORNING. 



I kiss'd her cheek, her bonny cheek, 

Ne'er kissed before by any lover \ 
I press'd her to my throbbing breast, 

My fond affection to discover. 
For ever could I press that lip, 

And gaze upon that cheek of roses ; 
For ever hang upon that smile, 

Where love pro vo kingly reposes. 

Why didst thou blush, thou peerless maid, 

Unconscious on my bosom leaning ? 
Ah ! 'twas the thrill of innocence, 

The native glow of virtue beaming. 
W hen mingling with the village throng, 

What might it mean, that sweet confusion ?- 
But now the soft impression's gone, 

It seems a dream — a dear delusion. 

Alas ! should flattering tongue assail, 
Or wanton, wandering eye e'er tent her , 



THE JULY MORNING* 29 



Or any of the serpent's breed 

Love's paradise presume to enter ! 
What pity, should some ruffian clown 

Be destined on these charms to riot 5 
Or, callous as the savage Moor, 

Disturb that tender bosom's quiet ! 

But go, thou blooming, artless maid, 

Through this wid- ^orld may nought alarm thee $ 
And ill befa' that cruel heart, 

The cruel hand that e'er could harm thee ! 
Yes, go, thou spotless as the dove, 

Thy better angel still attending, 
To lead thee to some bower in heaven, 

Triumphant, at thy journey's ending. 



FANNY THE FAIR. 



<This Song was first published in Arlis's Pocket Magazine, 
(vol. ii, p. 116,) with some variations in the second stanza. 
Most of the other pieces that may have appeared in that- or 
any other periodical work, are now printed without any ma- 
terial alteration.) 



VV here shall the lover rest, doomed to despair ? 
What heal his aching breast ? — Fanny the Fair ! 
If, 'neath those orbs of snow, 
E'er kindled pity's glow, 
One gleam of hope bestow, 

Fanny the Fair ! 



tfANNY THE FAIR. 31 

Heard you that seraph -swell ?— love-laden air ! 
Fondly the echoes tell — Fanny is there ! 

Fix'd now each ardent eye, 

Each pulse beats harmony, 

Each heart is ecstacy, 

Fanny the Fair ! 

"Who look'd so fine and smart ? — Fanny the Fair ! 
Who pierced this bleeding heart ? — Fanny the Fair ! 

Courteous to all, and free, 

Distant and cold to me, 

Yet will I doat on thee, 

Fanny the Fair ! 

Tell me, thou peerless maid — Fanny the Fair ! 
See thy slave lowly laid — victim of care ! 

Smilest thou to see me pine ? 

Melts not that heart of thine ? 

Fain would I call thee mine, 
Fanny the Fair ! 



32 



FANNY THE FAIK. 



Down, down, thou poor heart ! rest, — peace dwells 

not there ! 
Seek it on Fanny's breast, — Fanny the Fair ! 

There could thy lover lie, 

Gazing eternally — 

There breathe his latest sigh, 
Fanny the Fair ! 



ALLAN AND MARY; 



OK 



THE SEER. 



-Pity is the best. 



The noblest passion in the human breast. 

HOMFT. 



XV ED the sun had sunk to rest/ 
Softly fann'd the balmy breeze. 

Ruddy glow'd the golden west, 

Blackbirds caroPd from the trees ; 

When, by lone StrathnardilFs dell, 
Weary, faint, and pressM with care, 

Allan sought the Seer's cell, 
Allao. stout, and Allan fair. 



34 ALLAN AND MAEY. 

Setting sun, nor balmy breeze, 

Blackbird's song, nor golden sky,— 

Nought his love-sick heart could ease, 
Nought could charm in Allan's eye. 

Mary's parting words and woes, 
Purpose rash, and proffers kind, 

Haunt the youth where'er he goes, 
Loth to leave the maid behind. 

O'er the skirts of wild Dunskye 
Now he bends his weary way ' 7 

Swift the measured moments fly, 
Short'ning still the soldier's stay. 

Now he gain'd the Seer's cot, 
Shelter'd 'neath a birken bower % 

Sad and solemn was the spot, 

Hallowed Norman's hall of power* 



ALLAN AND WARY, 35 



Snug the heath-clad mansion stood, 
Wide and wild the savage scene, 

Loud the torrent's furious flood 
Dash'd the dizzy cliffs between. 

Yawning near, a cavern lay, 

Deep in Strathaird's wizzard dell, 

Where, the won d' ring rustics say, 
Jn orma» mingled many a spell. 

Wither' d now his time-worn cheek, 
Fled the lustre of his eye, 

Snowy waved his tresses sleek, 
And his look was dignity. 

Oft by Coriskin's deep tide, 
Musing lone he loved to go 9 

l\here grey Coolin's clinty side 
JLitf.es the sunless lake below. 



36 ALLAN AND MARY, 



Importuned, the sage could tell 
Scenes of welfare and of woe, 

Since on him the spirit fell, 

Future good and ill to know.— 

High in heaven's cerulean dome 

Beam'd the beauteous lamp of night, 

And the Seer chanced to roam, 
Eaving in the lovely light,— 

When the soldier, nought aware, 
Dubious of the pathway lone, 

Mark'd a shepherd's pensive air. 
Bending o'er a mossy stone. 

" Father !" said the courteous youth, 
" Lives the wond'rous Seer nigh ? 

He, whose visions are of truth, 
Norman, of the gifted eye iV 



ALLAN" AND MAHY. 37 

" Ha ! in sooth, some luckless boy, 

Caught in Beauty's rosy snare ! 
Mary ! but she must be coy, 

To deny a youth so fair : — 

** Yon his cot, — and that his bower, — 

And the man himself is nigh ^ 
For, by Torquil's stone of power 

Stands the Seer of the Skye." 

u Prophet of the misty Isle ! 

List a soldier's fervent prayer,— 
Tortured, nor by lady's smile, 

Nor by beauty's galling snare. 

" Mine's the object I adore, 

Mary's love, and plighted vow- 
Yet, if doom'd to see her more, 

None of mortals knows — but thou. 
d2 



38 ALLAN AND MARY* 

" Destined to a foreign land, 
Britain's glory to maintain,— 

Shall I hail old Albin's strand ? 
Meet my Mary's smile again ?" — 

" Yes ! — I see the war-cloud hung 
Dark o'er Belgium's carnaged field * ? 

Woe in blood her hands hath wrung, 
Havock to the banquet reel'd. 

" Now the thunder-peal has broke — 
Mary ! — what a scene appears ! 

Europe trembles at the shock, 
Earth's remotest cavern hears. 

" Deep, O Albin, are thy woes, 
Dear the glory thou hast won y 

Proud in arms thy sons arose, — 
Now their meteor-course is run." — 



ALLAN AND MARY. 39 



" Seer of the future day ! 

Speak not of the heroes' fall : 
Tell me — what shall Mary say ? 

Brightens joy in Allan's hall ?" — 

" Now the stubborn field is won, 

Fast the Gallic legions fly j 
Now the crimson thread is spun — 

Thread of Allan's destiny ! 

" Visions dread of wizzard lore, 

Mock not Norman's gifted sight \ — 
Headless trunk — and mangled sore ! — 
_ Golden brooch, and diamond bright ! 

u Whose the brooch and jewels rare, 
Let not mystic numbers sing ' 7 

Say not whose the tresses fair 

Form'd the warrior's sparkling ring !" 



40 ALLAN AND MARY. 

" Mighty prophet of the Skye ! 

Finish quick the tragic tale ; — » 
Thou hast seen the foemen fly, 

Seen the great Macleod prevail ? 

" Glorious triumph, cheaply bought, 
Though the price be Allan's life ; 

But could Mary — ah, the thought — 
Cruel were the dreadful strife I"—- » 

" Loudly blows the bellowing blast, 
Dismal lours the murky sky, 

See the storm-sprites flitting fast, 
Red the forked lightnings fly ! 

" Steep the cliff, and high the hill, 
Narrow sinks the glen between, 

Ha ! — she stems the gushing rill, 
Seated on the margin green. 



ALLAN AtfD MARY. 41 

" Pale and languid is her cheek, 
Oft she heaves the throbbing sigh ; 

Heard' st thou not that piercing shritk ? 
'Twas the scream of agony ! 

:i Frantic now I see her rove, 

Vacant as the bounding hind, 
Hurrying through Saint Ronan's grove, 

Loose her tresses fan the wind. 

M Now — an infant fills her knee, 

Tearful by the Leathan's roar ; 
Blessed Mary ! — is it she ? — 

Once the flower of Inistore !"— 

" Dotard Seer, cease thy strain, 

Idle seems thy artless spell ; 
Caution to the brave is vain, — 

Oh that Mary might be well J" 



42 ALLAN AND MABY. 



Gaily Allan sprung on board, 
Gaily clear'd he Rasay bay , 

H'gh in fancied glory soar'd, 

Gain'd on Britain's powerful day. 

Yet the warrior oft would seek 

Parting sorrows to renew, 
As old Broichin's castled peak 

Sunk — for ever — from his view. 

Boots it now the bard should tell 
Allan's progress to the tomb ? 

No 5 — with fame the hero fell, 

And — his country mourns his doom. 



ALLAN AND MARY. 43 

When the tale of Mary's woes 

Blabb'd the busy tongue of fame, — 

Thrice the frenzied laugh arose, 
Thrice she shouted Allan's name. 

" No ! — ye foolish sisters — no ; 

Why should mighty Allan fall ? 
There — I see the hero go, 

Bravest of the warriors all. 

" Dreadful nods his sable plume \ 

Flickering gleams his sword on high \ 

Ha ! — 'tis darkness, noise, and gloom- 
See the bleeding soldier lie I" 

Soothing speech, nor lapse of time, 

Mary's sorrows can allay : 
Floweret nipt in early prime, 

Doom'd to languish and decay ! 



44 ALLAN AND MARY, 



Wan that cheek, and wild those eyes, 
Lately beam'd with tenderness \ 

Charming still the ruin lies, 
Lovely even in wretchedness. 

Now to Konan's hallowed grot, 
By the streamy Leathan's roar, 

Or to Norman's lonely cot, 
Hies the flower of Inistore : — 

" Seer of the wizzard dell ! 

Why from Mary does he roam ? 
Tell me, is my Allan well ? 

Send the gallant soldier home !" 



LOUISA, 
THE FLOWER OF THE TYKE. 



"N> 



ow rests the red sun in his caves of the ocean, 
Now closed every eye, but of misery and mine, 
While led by the moonbeam, in fondest devotion, 

I dwell on her image, the flower of the Tyne. 
Her cheek far outrivals the rose's rich blossom, 
Her eyes the bright gems of Golconda outshine, 
j The snow-drop and lily would die on her bosom, 
Consumed in her splendour, the flower of the Tyne. 
E 



46 LOUISA. 

■ - -J 

So charming each feature, so guileless her nature, 

The youths fondly gaze, and pronounce her divine, 
So witchingly pretty, so modestly witty, — 

My heart's stolen sigh is the flower of the Tyne. 
Her aspect so noble, yet sweetly inviting, 

The Loves and the Graces her temples entwine y 
In manners, the saint and the syren uniting, — 

Blooms lovely Louisa, the flower of the Tyne. 

Though fair, Caledonia, the nymphs of thy mountains, 

Though graceful and straight, as thy own silver pine, 
Though fresh as thy breezes, and pure as thy fountains, t 

Yet fairer to me is the flower of the Tyne. 
This poor throbbing heart one whole offering I give her r 

One temple to love be this bosom of mine, 
O smile on thy victim, Louisa ! — for ever 

I'll kneel at thy altar, thou flower of the Tyne. 






RED IS THE ROSE ; 
A DIRGE, 

WRITTEN FOR THE 18TH OF JUNE. 



How stately the oak that o'ershadows the Tay, 

Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
Now blasted its beauty, and left to decay, 

And the wild flowers are weeping o'er Johnny, O. 



How gay to the pibroch they muster' d that morn, 

Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
The brave men of Athol, and heroes of Lorn, 

No warrior so gallant as Johnny, B 



48 RED IS THE BOSK. 






The flower of Breadalbane, the pride of his clan, - 

Bed is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
The Gael's purest blood in his manly breast ran, 

And leel was the heart of my Johnny, O. 

But three little weeks — and I'm reft of the brave, 

Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
The blaze of his glory now hallows his grave, 

And Aibm is sad for my Johnny, O. 

They bid me be glad on the day of his fame, 

Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
I'm proud of his valour, and proud of his name, 

But my heart is a-breaking for Johnny, Ch 

Yes — proud are the trophies that blazon our hall, 

Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
But the sad heart must sob, and the trembling tear fall, 

And I'll weep till I die for my Johnny, O. 







RED IS THE ROSE. 49 



On each coming morn of my country's proud day, 

Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 
I'll plait a fine wreath by the oak of the Tay, 

A love-woven garland for Johnny, Q. 



And oft, my sweet baby, I'll sigh thee to sleep, 
Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 

Be happy, nor doom'd like thy mother to weep, 
Thou dear little image of Johnny, O. 

Now, Athol, thy woodlands I'll traverse afar, 
Red is the rose, and bonny, O ! 

And talk to his ghost, the poor victim of war, 
'Twill sweeten the rest of my Johnny, (X 



e2 



DRYBURGH ABBEY. 



* Hie gelidi fontes ; hie mollia prata, Fidele ; 
Hie nemus ; hie ipso tecum consumerer «vo." 



Y e that woo th' inspiring Nine, 
Bards, — your wayward steps incline 

To the noble Buchan's bowers ) 
Nature here, and art, combine 

To invite poetic powers : 
Richer hues than Tempe's blow, 
Purer Helicons here flow, 
Prouder wreaths for minstrel's brow 

Bloom fair by Drybro' Abbey. 



BRYBUKGH ABBEY, 51 



Ye, enthrall' d by Beauty's sway, 
Love-lorn swains, enraptured, stray 

By the Tweed's deep murmuring stream, 
Raving to the lunar ray, 

Or the sick'ning noontide beam ;— 
Ranging, devious, cliff and dell, 
Reckless of each sainted cell, 
Pensive maids and youths — go tell 

Your woes by Brybro' Abbey. 

Hasten to the sylvan scene, 
Caledonia's Patriots keen \ — 

On his terror-striking spear 
See your martyr hero lean, 

Ever to his country dear ! — 
High on yonder dome, unstrung, 
By embowering pines o'erhung, 
Lo ! the harp of Eden flung, 

Hangs mute by Drybro' Abbey ! 



52 DRYBTJRGH JLBBEY. 

For these rites to Wallace' shade, 
For the palm to Thomson paid, 

And the progress of decay 
By the hand of Genius stay'd, 

O'er yon cloister'd turrets grey,- 
Minstrels, raise the grateful song, 
Mingling wild the measure strong \ 
Echoes sweet, the notes prolong, 

Sublime, by Drybro' Abbey. 



ANNETTE PAREE. 



Mademoiselle Annette Paris, (which, euphonia gratia, we 
have exchanged for Paree,) was the daughter of Monsieur Paris, 
a ^rench emigrant of rank. Miss Paris was placed in a respect- 
able school near Brunswick-square; and one evening, at the 
Foundling, formed an acquaintance with a gentleman of the 
name of Jones, a very respectable young man, serving in the 
navy. Shortly afterwards he visited in the family, and was mar- 

1 ried to Miss Paris. But such was the perver eness and unhappy 
indiscretion of this young woman, that she soon quarrelled with 
her husband's family, and obliged him to remo^ e her to lodgings. 
Having reason to be dis-atis.:ed wi h her extravagance and con- 
duct, he taxed her with in delity. She made no justiicatioo, ac- 

1 knowledged it without reserve protested her insuperable hatred 
and contempt of her husband ; eloped from his house, and imme- 
diately went upon the town. She became, with respect to per- 
sonal virtue, wholly abandoned ; and returning one evening to 



54 ANNETTE PAPEE. 



her lodgings, having her bonnet all bedizened with artificial flow- 
ers, she terminated her career of profligacy by poison. It is, 
however, but charitable to conclude, that her mind was disorder- 
ed. Her person was extremely beautiful — her age seventeen— 
her figure light and delicate, and her manners truly prepossess- 
ing ; — she sung, and understood music well, and possessed many 
of the customary accomplishments of females . but of real solid 
education, of mental improvement, of moral and Christian know- 
ledge, she had not the faintest vestige — never was savage in this 
respect more unenlightened.— See La Belle Assemble? for January, 
1810. 



ANNETTE PAREE. 



Who swims along in beauty's pride, 
With Health and Pleasure by her side, 
So keen in fashion's maze to glide ? 

'Tis young Annette Paree. 

So thoughtless, so caress'd by all, 
So fond of concert, play, and ball, 
Who but anticipates the fall 

Of young Annette Paree ? 



56 



ANNETTE PARKE. 



Happy each night, when, laid to rest, 
Her cheek the downy pillow prest , 
" To-morrow, too, shall see me blest," 
Said young Annette Paree. 

But then of truth could boast the maid, 
By pride nor prurient ease betray'd -, 
Nor in guilt's mazy paths had strayM 
The young Annette Paree. 

Fair as the fabled Paphian queen 5 
In all the splendour of sixteen ; 
Was there in town or hamlet seen 
A lovelier than Paree ! 

You'd deem her then a child of God ? 
That virtue in her bosom glow'd, 
Of innocence the pure abode ?— 

And happy was Paree ? 



ANNETTE PAREE. 



Ah no !— some traitor fiend could tell 
He kindled there the torch of hell *, — 
Laugh'd when her better angel fell, 
Undoing poor Paree ! 

So wide, so wild, her guilty round. 

So deep in dissipation drown'd, 

No wandering outcast could be found 

More worthless than Paree ! 

Less harden'd in their sad career r 
Even profligates would blush to hear, 
And each impure, as pure appear, 

Constrasted with Paree. 

Of female worth no more the boast ; 
Her soul by lawless passions tost ; 
The woman in the demon lost,— 

Ah ! poor Annette Paree ! 



5& ANNETTE PAREE* 

Despised on earth — abhorr'd of Heav'n,-— 
By tempting fiends to frenzy driven y— 
To death a timeless victim given, 

Was poor Annette Paree. 

Hark ! — " Heaven ! — Perdition ! — Help !" she cries, 
A wretched suicide she dies ! 
And now a frightful ruin lies 

TV accomplished, gay Paree ! 

No help at that dread hour was nigh \ 
No parent heaved the heartfelt sigh 5 
No faithful bosom friend did cry 

Alas !" for poor Paree. 



u 



No ray the parting pang to cheer $— • 
By strangers' hands was borne her bier m y 
//dropt, it was a stranger's tear, 

For poor Annette Pareee 



ANNETTE PAREE. ,59 



Even when the last sad rites were paid, 

And in the dust her relics laid, 

u There lies," the very rabble said, 

" That wicked wretch Paree !" 

Ye gay, ye thoughtless, ye secure, 
Ah, trust not pleasure's gilded lure, 
Lest pain and ruin ye procure, 

Like poor Annette Paree* 

Dreadful ! ere half our course be run, 
Ere half our destined task be done, 
Or one repentant thought begun — 

To die, like poor Paree ! 

Dreadful ! — by guilt and fury driven, 
Polluted, trembling, unforgiven, 
To rush before the bar of heaven, 

Like poor Annette Paree ! 



VERSES 



ON SEEING A YOUNG LADY PERFORM AT A 
PROVINCIAL THEATRE. 



Hail, beauteous stranger ! — nor disdain 
The meed to matchless merit due ; 
Though rude the bard, yet bold the strain, 
Since Fancy's fire is fed by yow. 

Hail, pretty Chloe ! — and forgive 
The rev'ries of a rustic's muse, 
Proud, might he in your favour live — 
Can you the precious boon refuse ! 



VERSES. 61 

" ' ■■ ' ■ ' ' ■ ■■ =: 

TV applause of Beauty — kindling beam ! 
Like witchery o'er his wild harp flung — 
Might wake its cords to loftier theme 
Than ever Border Minstrel sung. 



Let others weave the tale of war, 
Or sing of love's romantic woe, — 
Beauty ! — be thou my guiding star, 
And sprightlier bid my numbers flow. 



Yes ! — though his tale of love be told ? 
And troth be pledged in union sweet — 
Well pleased, the minstrel can behold 
Each grace in lovely woman meet. — 

But who can sing that face so sweet, 
That noble mien — that speaking eye — 
That heaving breast, — where harmless bea£ 
The floods of love and sympathy ? 



62 



VERSES. 



When glows, in verse, yon beam of heaven, — 
When blooms the floweret of the dell,— 
The simplest grace to Beauty given, 
Then bid the lagging measure tell. 

And sure a winning girl thou art, 
Or, prompting sad the tragic sigh, 
Or, charming sorrow from our heart, 
Sweet lady of the laughing eye. 

But hark ! — she pours the trilling song — 
Mark'st thou the witch-notes' magic roll ? 
Now melting soft — now sweetly strong, 
Warbling wild transports to the soul !— 

Hold, foolish harper ! — cease thy lay, 
Too mean for lady's courtesy \ 
Nor heeds she what a clown can say, 
Nor cares she for thy minstrelsy. 



VERSES* 63 

Then go, fair Chloe ! — long to charm 
Th' applauding throng, with talents rare ; — 
And — blast the villain that could harm 
A heart so kind — a form so fair ! 

Go, beauteous stranger ! — nor disdain 

The meed to matchless merit due j 

Though rude the bard — though bold the strain — 

The rustic garland's wove— for you, 



FANNY ROVER ; 



OR 



COLIN'S INVITATION. 



" Come with me, and pick the blossoms 

A* they fall from ro y joy ; 
Generous girls to pleasure listen, 

Why should we a bud destroy." 



Have ye seen the wild rose blooming 

* Lonely in some desert vale ? 
Marked how fair, how unassuming? 
Mark'd its hue of virgin pale ? 
O my pretty Fanny Rover, 
Where's the girl so fresh as she ? 
Wafting sweets my grotto over, 
She's the blushing rose to me. 



FAKKT ROVER. 65 



Fairest daughter fornvd by nature ! 

Loveliest of the woiks of God \ 
When matured in years and stature, 
Be my cot thy blest abode. 
O my pretty Fanny Rover, 
Who can trip the dasied green, 
Frolic hills and moorlands over, 
Like my dashing village cneen ? 

Why should Time, that dotard hoary, 

Quench the star in Fanny's eye ? 
Pluck, in -spite, one rose of glory 
Mantling in perfection high 

On that cheek, — my pretty Fanny 
Say, my fairest, can it be P 
Ne'er shall set that star, my Fanny, 
Ne'er shall fade one rose — to me. 



P 



Pressing fond my coyful charmer, 
How the bounding spirits flow ! 



66 FANNY ROVER. 



Should wild passion prompt to harm her, 
Blushing prudence whispers — No ! 
Not for worlds would Colin glory 
In a feeble woman's shame } 
Or, to gild a gossip's story, 
Prostitute his Fanny's name. 

Maiden, sister of Aurora, 

Seek we now some cool retreat , 
Seek the bower where bounteous Flora 
Studs the turf with posies sweet. 
See, my love, the lambkins pretty, 
Frisking o'er yon meadows green } 
While the blackbird's am'rous ditty 
Greets my stately village queen. 

O the sweet ecstatic pleasure, 

With our favourite maid to stray m 7 

Thou, on earth, my only treasure, 
Fairest creature, come away ! 



FANNY ROVER. 67 

Yes ! my pretty Fanny Eover , 
Noise and envy let us flee \ 
Bounding hills and woodlands over, 
Trip it merrily with me. 

Every tribe, of every motion, 

Or that walk, or swim, or fly $ 
All on earth, in air, or ocean, 
Yield to love's supremacy. 

Come, fair nymph, two wanton rovers, 
Speed we to yon arbour green, 
I, the first of happy lovers, 
You, my charming village qneen. 



HOSABEL ; 



OB 



THE MANIA C, 



What makes my Billy tarry ?''- 

Thus w ent the maniac's song,— 
" He promised me to marry, 

And come ere it was long : — 
He hears not, — he cares not, — 

Or lives he still for me, 
While here I dwell, poor Rosabel, 

Beneath the willow tree. 



ROSABEL. 69 



" 'Twas here we fondly parted, 

And sigh'd our last adieu ; — 
Ne'er soldier braver hearted, 

Ne'er gallant youth more true : 
When lying a-dying, 

He sent this ring to me, 
And said he'd meet his Kosa sweet, 

Beneath the willow tree. 

" The moon shines cold and cloudy ;-— 

Look there ! — O heaven, 'tis he ! — 
Pale, pale his face, and bloody ! — 

1 Why shake thy head at*me ? 
c All worn, love, and torn, love, 

* Long, long, I've sought for thee - y 
6 My beauty's gone, my wits are flown, 

1 Beneath the willow tree !' 

" But where is Billy fled now, 
Good people, can ye say ?— 

G 



70 BOSABEL. 



So nice his bridal bed now, 

With flowers and fennel gay. — 

My breast burns — my brain turns, — 
Hark ! — Billy calls on me ! — 

So— fare-thee-well !" — cries Rosabel, 
And left the willow tree. 



THE 

SONG OF VICTORY. 



Is it the lark that carols shrill, 

Is it the bittern's early hum ? 
No '.—distant, but increasing still, 
The trumpet's sound swells up the hill, 
With the deep murmur of the drum. 



Lord of the Isles. 



Dark the dubious dawn arose, 
Dawn of terror and of glory } 

Solemn was the evening's close, 
Evening ever famed in story. 

Mark yon burnish' d cuirassiers ! 

High the bloody eagle rears \ 

Loud the Gallic clarion cheers 
Raw recruit and veteran hoary. 



72 THE SONG OF VICTORY. 

Firm the patriot bands advance, 
Warm in honour's rivalry \ 

Shining faulchion, helm, and lance, 
And Britain's hot artillery. 

England moves in lion pride, 

Erin musters by her side, 

Albin's plaided warriors stride, 
The flower of martial chivalry. 

Soldier-like the squadrons close, 
Man to man most gallantly > 
Deep the din of battle rose, 

Peal on peal tumultuously. 
Flamed the sulph'rous vault of heaven \ 
Shook the centre-rocks, as riven j 
Whizzing flew the death-bolts, driven 
From war's terrific enginery ! 

Mark the hero leader's might, 
'Midst the tug of battle toiling ! 



THE SONG OF VICTORY, 75 

Foremost in the dangerous fight, 

Napoleon's power and genius foiling ! 

Terrible the foemen's shock 5 

British hearts their efforts mock } 

They shrink as billows from the rock, 
Broken, on themselves recoiling. 

Ha : the glorious field is won \ 

There, ambition's crest is lying , 
See the tamed usurper run, 

Fast the homeward movement plying ! 
Slackened now the cannon's roar } 
Sinks the haughty tri-color $ 
Speeds the courser, dashing o'er 

Friend and foeman, dead and dying. 

Ye, whose sires " with Wallace bled," — 
From their misty thrones now bending,— 

Ye, whom Wellington has led, 

Europe's dearest rights defending,— 
g2 



74 THE SONG OF VICTORY. 

True to Scotia's warrior name, 
Point to future days your fame ; 
Bid sire to son, with glad acclaim, 
Catch your victor-shouts ascending. 

Who the votive wreath will bring, 
Meed of matchless gallantry ? 

Who the hero's praises sing ? 
Wellington and Victor? ! 

'Midst his fame the Ganges roll'd ; 

Iberia of his prowess told \ 

But Belgium's battle-fields unfold 
A tale of immortality ! 



THE BUD, 



ADDRESSED TO MISS 



***** **** 



There is a bud, a favourite bud, 
And the graces watch its bloom, 

Aurora drops its cheeks with dew, 
And Flora breathes perfume. 

The zephyrs revel in its sweets, 
Then fan themselves to rest j 

The sun-beam wantons on its lip, 
And burns upon its breast. 



76 



THE BUD. 



I look'd — and saw its crimson folds, 

In virgin glories bright, 
Bursting — just bursting into /tfe y 

And teeming with delight, 

" Sweet gem ! — be destined long," I said, 

" In spotless pride to beam , 
And happy be the shepherd's lot, 

Whose breast thou mayest beseem ! n 

I look'd again — mysterious heaven ! 

It droop' d its languid head •, 
And pale, pale was its lovely cheek, 

Its ruddy vigour fled ! 

I hung in sorrow o'er its bed, 

And tried its head to rear $ 
I sigh'd upon its sickly lip, 

And dropt a silent tear ! 



THE BUD. 



77 



Blow soft, ye zephyrs, on its cheek , 
Thou beam, the blossom spare \ 

Aurora, bring your choicest dews * y 
Flora, fresh balm prepare. 



O rear this plant of fair renown, 
Its native bloom replace, 

Pride of the garden and the grove, 
The glory of its race. 

Be mine the task — by ruffian hands 

To see it never torn ; 
And mine the shepherd's happy lot, 

W hose breast it may adorn. 



THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 



Yet who may pass them by, 
That crag and tower in ruins grey, 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

The tribute of a sigh. 

Scott. 



(The following Fragment has been partly attempted in the sim- 
ple style, the obsolete orthography, and the frequently irregu- 
lar measure of the ancient ballad. — Roslin Castle was founded 
about the year 1440, by St Clair, Prince of Orkney and Duke 
of Oldenburgh, and appears to have been the favourite seat of 
that family.) 



PART FIRST. 



&ae dark and gurly was the night, 
The furious Esk did roar 5 

Whilst cold and wet the maiden wend, 
Her tender feet right sore. 



THE MAID OF ROSLYff. 79 

And loud the warder blew his horn, 

He blew it loud and long, 
Whilst Margaret of the West Co un trie 

WanderM the woods among. 

At every blast the warder blew, 

She listen' d to the sound, 
Till, after many a painful step, 

The castle gate she found. 

" Who, at this late and lonely hour, 

Presumes to pass this way ?"— 
11 A helpless wanderer of the wild j 

Some pity show, I pray." 

11 Last night, a reever, rude and bold, 

With twenty men and three, 
Beset the Roslyn Castle round : 

I wot ye be na he. 



80 THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 

" And seven were slain, and five were ta'en. 

The rest of them did flee ; 
But the rude rude reever he is gone,— 

I wot ye be na he. 

" And Roslyn ha' is a stately ha', 

Its lord is brave and gude ; 
Now the way is free, as I trow ye be 

A dame of gentle blude." 

Now he has led her to St. Clair's ha% 

The wanderer of the wild, 
Where sat fair Annie all alone, 

Lord William's darling child. 

" Gae tell your father, my young ladye, 

Gae tell him speedilie, 
That a gentle maiden tarries below, 

Waiting his courtesie." 



THE MAID OF EOSLYN. 



81 



" O haste thee, haste thee, father dear," 

Th' impatient Annie cries, 
M A ladye fair is waiting thee, 

Though clad in humble guise." 

" How knowest thou then, thou foolish child, 

This maiden's qualitie l n 
" 'Tis by her look, her courteous mein, 

And srreet civility." 

" Her lily skin is like the silk, 

Sae s aft and white her hand, 
Nae Earl's daughter might her surpass, 

Nor ladye in all the land. 

" Her smile is just my mother's smile !' 

Fair Annie stopt, and sigh'd ; 
" This mantle green shall be her ain, 

If here she may abide." 

H 



82 THE MAID OF ROSLYtf. 

Now bold St. Clair has followed her, 
While the saut tear fill'd his e'e, 

For the like o' the lady he had lost 
Was scarce in christendie. 

The stately knight when Margaret saw, 
Low bent she on her knee - 7 

" O pity, good sir, a wanderer poor, 
Who waits your courtesie." 

" Get up, get up, thou lowly maid, 

Nae evil may befa', 
For ne'er, I wot, shall ladye kneel, 

In Eoslyn's courtly ha\ 

" Go seat thee by my daughter's side, 
Thy errand tell me, pray ; 

How comes it that a gentle dame 
Should seek this lonely way V* 



THE MAID OF ROSLTN. 83 

" No gentle dame, alas ! — but poor 

And friendless here I roam - ? 
An orphan, by oppression driven 

To seek another home. 

" O, I will tend your bleating lambs 

By Esk's meandering tide \ 
Or I will keep your wandering goats 

By steepest mountain side m y — 

" Or I will trim your bonny bowers, 

Or on my ladye wait ; 
So be you list an orphan's prayer, 

Nor spurn me from your gate. 

" But ask not, ask not, courteous knight, 

My tale, or whence I came ; — 
Let ' Margaret of the West Countrie* 

Still be the stranger's name."— 



84 THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 

" The Roslyn towers shall be your home, 

Your suit my earliest care j 
Now, daughter, to your softest couch, 

With this your ward repair." — 

Lord William turn'd him on his bed, 

And kiss'd the holy rood : 
" Yes ! — hers is Marjory's very smile, 

My ladye fair and good I* 1 

And sleepless was that langsome night, 
No prayers procured him rest j 

And strange the thoughts, the purpose wild. 
That strove within his breast. 



THE MAID OF ROSLYK* 85 



PART SECOND. 

*' What damsel's this, St. Clair, you keep, 

In Roslyn's halls to shine ?" 
Quoth Ramsay, as one day they sat 

Drinking the blude reid wine. 

■" It's mony a comely dame I've seen, 

Of high and low degree, 
But of all our Scottish ladies fair, 

This maid best pleases me." 

a Shame on thy tongue, Dalhousie's lord, 

Sae loudly ye do lie ; 
For lately I hired this silly wench 

My shepherdess to be."— 
h2 



86 



THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 



Now Ramsay had met her as she came 

Her frugal meal to seek - y 
And he cast on her a kindly look, 

And tried — but could not speak. 

Yet Margaret felt that kindly look, 

All hopeless and forlorn \ 
And Ramsay thought on the comely lass, 

In spite of Orkney's scorn. — 

The live long day poor Margaret watch' d 

Beside her bleating flocks \ 
Now listless on the turf reclined, 

Now by the shady rocks. 

Sad, musing on her fate, she'd sit 

The blossom'd sloe beneath, 
Or round her favourite lambkin's neck 

Adjust the flowery wreath. 



THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 87 



Oft, like the Esk's fair shepherdess, 
With mantle round her flung, 

She'd con some doleful roundelay, 
And oft this ditty sung : — 



" Thy braes, fair Esk, are bonny braes, 
And sweet thy pebbled shore, 

It minds me o' my native haunts, 
Of silvan Lochy's roar. 

I saw the day, the rueful day, 

Of Hay's bloody strife, 
When Campbell's fiery clansmen sped 

To seek my father's life. 

I heard the battle's dreadful din, 
The claymore's chilly clang, 

And many a deadly blow was dealt, 
As the sword-struck target rang* 



88 THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 

Near and more near the Campbells press'd, 

I heard the deathful cries, 
"While the ruddy flame of Lochiel's towers 

Rose flaring to the skies. 

Bold Cameron calPd his scatter'd clan, 

That gallant clan was lost, 
And 'midst the foe's resistless roar 

Like weeds of ocean tost. 

I saw my father's bleeding corse 

Lie lifeless on the ground * ? 
I saw my mother's burning bower 

Light all the hills around. 

Oft, from the clouds, that dreadful night, 

Did vivid lightnings break, 
While Lochiel's flame roll'd high to heaven, 

And gleam'd on the distant lake. 



THE MAID OF BOSLYN. 89 

Wfcere wast thou, Glenevis, in thy pride, 

*V\ hen my brave father fell ? — 
In midnight sleep my love was slain 

By ruffian fiends of hell ! — 

Though stately be the Roslyn ha', 

To me it yields nae rest, 
But oh ! at the bonny Locheil's bowers 

How blythe was I, and blest ! 

Sweet is thy blossom, hawthorn dell, 
And the breeze that stirs thy leaves ; 

But alas ! no breeze can cool the breast 
Which cruel death bereaves ! 

Sing on, ye bonny birds, ^tis love 

That flutters in your breast, 
But many a sab this heart maun gi'e 

Ere it sab itsel' to rest. 



90 THE MAID OF ROSLYX. 

And thou, sweet Esk, flow gently on \ 
The breeze that sweeps thy wave 

May fan the cheek o' the tiny flower 
That blooms on Margaret's grave !" 



PART THIRD. 



" Nay, hold ! thou noble lord, nor seek 

To spoil my virgin fame , 
Nor stoop beneath thy dignity, 

To do this deed of shame." 

" Weep not, sweet maid, — those starry eyes 

Are made for love alone , 
Those glowing lips for passion's sighs •, 

That form would grace a throne !" 



THE MAID OF RGSLYX. 91 

" Woe to the maid, in simple guise r 

The treacherous tale that hears ! 
Those lips were made for the tale of woe, 

Those eyes for the briny tears." 

" And thou shalt be clad in rich attire, 

In the silk and scarlet fine ; 
And thy fee shall be told in the red red gold., 

If thy love it may be mine." 

" Perish thy bribe ! uncourteous knight, 

Base as thy flattery ; 
Not for the gold in Roslyn's halls 

Thy paramour I'd be."-*- 

Now Ramsay to the Scottish host 

Impatient bent his way, 
All on the links of Liddesdale 

Encamped as they lay. 



92 the MAID OF ROSLYff. 

But ere he went — Lord William's towers, 

He might not pass them by, 
Where the tearful cheek of Margaret 

Soon caught the gallant's eye, 

11 And is it thus Lord William woos 

His lovely shepherdess ?" 
" She only tells of her cruel wrongs, 

And humbly seeks redress." — 

But, O how kind the heart-sprung smile 
In Ramsay's face that beam'd ! 

For still some lady in distress 
This pretty maid he deem'd. 

And oft by Liddal's lonely stream, 

Of her the warrior sung, 
And the courtly halls of Hermitage 

To Margaret's name have rung.— 



THE MAID OF ROSLTO*., $5 

" Go call the warder, thou little page,," 

Cried Orkney furiously, 
" For my lady's jewels she has stole, 

This Dame of the West Countrie !* 

" Then let her lie in the dungeon deep, 

For, on the green-wood tree, 
Before to-morrow's mass be sung, 

It's hangit she shall be !"— 

What might she think, poor Margaret ! 

In prison as she lay ? 
Her lover laid in bloody grave, 

And Ramsay far away ! 

'Midst all the poignancy of woe, 

Her soul no guilt confess'd, 
Pure as the unoffending babe 

That smiles upon the breast. 

I 



94 THE MAID OF EOSLYK. 

[Her heart for every living thing 
With tenderness o'erflow'd, 

On the silly worm that crawls along 
Poor Margaret never trode.] 



" O had my brave Glenevis lived ! 

He'd draw th' avenging sword, 
Level these turrets to the ground, 

And tame their haughty lord. — 

" Were I but laid on christian bed, 
To die a christian death — 

But, 'neath the brand of infamy, 
To draw one's latest breath— ! 






THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 95 

" Why is it thus, — mysterious Heaven !— 
And is there no release ?— 

It cannot be— break, stubborn heart- 
Then, welcome, lasting peace. 

" Now, Frederick ! — now I come to thee, 

Thy spotless, plighted bride } — 
Prepare for me the robes of Heaven, 

And set me by thy side !" — 

The owl that night on the battlements, 

Right dismally did scream j 
And sad the sights that appalled the knight, 

In many a fearful dream. 

" Go call my warder, thou little page, 

Bid him come speedilie, 
For in dungeon deep the maid is held 

By cruel treachery. 



96 SHE Jtf AID Off &OSLY& 

" Haste !— bid her tend her bleating charge, 

All scattered on the plain, 
For the echoes of her native glens 

Shall soon repeat her strain !"— 

But Margaret of life's bitter cup 
The latest dregs had drain'd 5 
And her haughty soul, from insult sprung, 

The bowers of Heaven had gain'd. 

- 

Yet oh ! to see her lowly laid, 

Would melt a heart of stone j 
And alas, that e'er from LocheiFs glens 

This highland flower had come'! 



Pale, pale that lip, and wan that cheek, 

Her Frederick oft has prest 5 
And the heart that many a chieftain warm'd 

Lies cold within her breast ! 



THE MAID OF ROSLYN. 97 

Now Margaret sleeps by Esk's fair stream \ 

And the breeze that fans its wave 
Did kiss the cheek o' the tiny flowers 

Bedropt upon her grave. 



i2 



VERSES 

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THOMSON'S BIRTH-DAY. 



(These Verses were written in 1816, when the Funds destined 
for the erection of a Monument to the Memory of Thomson, 
were by no means in a flourishing state. It has not been 
thought worth while to make any alteration in the Poem, al- 
though that Monument has now been completed.) 



U for some portion of that skill 

Which prompts of Scotia's bards the sire ; 

Or of that Strength which stamps thee stUl 
Great master of the iEolian lyre ; 

Then would I frame such matchless lays, 

As well deserves thy peerless praise, 
Sweet poet of the " rolling year j" 

Fling torn my shell such fairy tones, 

That Naiads, in their osier zones, 
From Eden's oozy caves w r ould start with ravish'd ear ! 






VERSES. 99 

But artless is the minstrel wight 

Who sweeps with trembling hand each string 7 
Viewing from far th' adventurous height, 

Tamed fancy flags with drooping wing. 
Theme, worthy of a seraph's tongue, 
Thy praises, Thomson, shall be sung, 

Where genius bids bold science soar ; 
Where Ganges glides through Brachma's land ? 
Where Plata laves the western strand, 
Pealing from Diemen's Cape to Zembla's frozen shore. 

Thou, Albion, favoured land of heaven, 

'Tis thine the anthem to prolong : 
Queen of the Isles ! to thee, 'tis given 

To hail thy native poet's song. 
But chiefly, ye of pastoral Tweed, 
Where first he tuned his " Doric reed," 

O, weave a chaplet for his brow i 
Go, bid the polish'd column rise, 
Pointing his glory to the skies,— ~ 
Can Scotia's honest pride the flattering thought forego ? 



100 VERSES. 



Deign'st thou to view, by times, blest shade ! 

As leaning from the lucid skies, 
The spot where patriot Buchan bade 

Thy tributary temple rise ? 
Methinks in future times I see, 
Sacred to T/iomson^s Memory, 

By Eden's strand the obelisk shine ; 
Yet happier still, sweet bard, thy part, — . 
Sculptured on every Briton's heart, 
Thy proud Mausoleum beams in nature's own design ! 

While bursts the germe, and harvests wave, 
Thy name, great poet, still shall live •, 

While summers smile, and winters rave, 
Thy page the virtuous glow shall give : 

Till weary Nature seek repose, 

And, Ages drawing to a close, 

The Seasons cease their long career j 

When from his sphere yon sun is hurl'd, 

When sinks in flames the ruin'd world, 
And Time is swallowed up in one Eternal Year ! 



m 



THE 



LAY OE ST. WALDAVE. 



AIR,— Roslin Castle. 



1 he orient sun's refulgent rays 
On Melrose' towers began to blaze, 
When holy Waldave left his cell, 
'Midst cloister'd shades his woes to tell : 
For Edith's winning graces rare 
Had fill'd the Abbot's breast with care j 
And, as he pour'd his am'rous song, 
St. Mary's aisles the notes prolong. 



102 



THE LAY OF ST. WALDAVE. 



O Edith, Edith, matchless maid, 
What thrills of joy my soul pervade ! 
Come, charming fair one, come away, 
No dangerous wanton bids thee stray. 
Say, where at noon thy lambkins feed, 
Or by the gently flowing Tweed ? 
Or by yon consecrated dell, 
Where Cuthbert conn'd his holy spell ? 

To Eildon-tree, or Aikie-dean, 
Where fairies deftly foot the green, 
Or Huntly's waving woods, we'll rove, 
And prove the joys of mental love. 
For, by the Holy Rood I swear, 
And by these turrets beaming fair, — 
The flame that burns in Waldave's breast 
By virgin saints might be confest ! 

But hark ! — the tones of matin bell 
With holier airs the echoes swell, 



THE LAY OF ST. WALDAVE. 103 

Could mutter' d prayer these transports tame, 
Or cool the ardour of my flame. 
Even on my lips while lauds expire, 
Love, kindling at the altar's fire, 
With thee, to heaven presumes to soar, 
With thee, death's confines dares explore ! 



LOVE WITHOUT RETURN. 



The world's vain strife,— .without an aim,— 
To me seems dull and joyless now— 
I only sought the wreaths of fame 
To bind them round thy gentle brow.— 

Byroh. 



Ok thee to look, — with thee to talk — 

And just to hear thee speak j 
To catch thee by the lily hand, 

Or stroke thy blooming cheek,— 
Is all the boon thy Edwin craves, 

Then why that fondness spurn, 
And wantonly provoke the pang, 

Of love without return ? 



LOVE WITHOUT RETURN. 105 

I see thee lovely — can I cease 
To throw my circling arms 

Around thy snowy neck — or waist- 
Enfolding countless charms ? 

But while I press thee to my breast, 
My fondest prayers you spurn j 

The charming angel all is fled, 
And love meets no return ! 

I saw thee smiling — and I dared 

To ask the yielding kiss, 
The dearest boon of female truth, 

Sweet pledge of future bliss \ — 
But fairest prize of chilling pride,-^ 

The ravish' } d gift — I'd scorn j 
No kindling impulse cheers th' embrace 

Of love without return. 

Did e'er I rashly urge one suit 
A maiden need deny ? 

K 



106 LOVE WITHOUT BETURN. 

Or speak the simplest wish, with which 

You kindly did comply ? 
To thee my presence now is hate, 

My very name you spurn * 7 
For cheering look, is sullen spite, 

And love meets no return I 

I've seen the day,— each glance of mint 

Was welcomed by a smile •,— 
And oft I held thee to my heart 

And kissM thy cheek the while ! — 
The loss of wealth, the loss of friends, 

The soul of man may spurn ; 
But who can bear the rending throe 

Of love without return ? 

Then fare-thee-well, too cruel fair, 

Relentless maid, adieu ! — 
Yet, as I go, this breaking heart, 

Unerring, turns to you ! — 



LOVE WITHOUT RETURN. 107 



O happy pair, whose kindred souls, 
^Vith equal ardour burn 3 

But dreadful is the sick'ning pang 
Of love without return ! 






VERSES 



ON THE BIRTH-BAY OF THE MARQUIS OF BEAUMONT. 



" Paullo major a canamus." 



Fain would I raise a loftier song, 

Nor venal is the lay, 
To emulate th' acclaiming throng, 

On this auspicious day. 
O list, whilst he of classic Tweed, 
A rustic bard, assumes the reed, 

To hail young Beaumont's natal morn ; 
And smile propitious on his lays, 
Who culls fresh Caledonian bays, 

Thy temples to adorn. 






VERSES. 109 

Offspring of Cessford's chieftain bold, 

Branch of a noble stem I 
Dreadful thy fathers' banner-fold, 

Their towers the Borders' gem. 
Bright be thy rising, beauteous star, 
Happy thy influence felt afar, 

Destined in glory's sphere to shine j— 
Long o'er these smiling plains preside, 
Thy country's ornament and pride, 

Son of a mighty line ! 

No stormy feudal lord here dwells, 

In frowning mansion strong j 
Nor stern moss-trooper's foray-yells 

Echo these halls along : 
No fettering bolts, nor dungeon deep, 
W here captive wretches hopeless weep, 

Thy proud paternal towers contain ; 
But hospitality reigns here, 
Misfortune's sorrowing sons to cheer, 

And dissipate their pain. 
k2 



110 



VERSES. 



Oft has the Cessford's warrior-name 

Made Saxon legions fly, 
When Kerr's all-conquering clan did tame 

The Southrons 1 tyranny : 
But now, o'er Teviot's pastoral dale, 
Far other scenes than these prevail, 

Arts, industry, and glorious rest \ 
Whilst, 'neath a George's milder reign, 
For nobler deeds than heroes slain, 

Shall Beaumont's name be blest. 

The frown of tyrants to withstand, 

In freedom's sacred cause ; 
A prince's favour to command, 

A people's fond applause :— 
Yet, whilst ambition's lures assail, 
Still mindful of the peaceful vale, 

To seek the village and the grove }— 
These more than " list'ning senates" cheer, 
To youthful recollections dear, 

To innocence and love ! 



VERSES. HI 



Now see the curious rustic trace, 

(Anticipation kind !) 
A parent's likeness in that face, 

The great and generous mind : — 
Sensations these, sublimer far, 
Than e'er enjoy'd by madd'ning War, 

'Midst cannon's roar, and city's blaze 5 
Was ever Chieftain half so blest, 
Spoil-laden to his halls that prest, 

While shouting vassals gaze ? 

Roll swiftly on, ye rosy years, 

That lead to future fame, 
The stamp of genuine worth that bears, 

And gilds the noblest name. 
O, bid the generous youth beware 
Of Flattery's song, and Pleasure's snare, 

That tempt from Virtue's paths to stray 5 
And be his better angel near, 
To turn from Sceptic pride his ear, 

More fatal still than they. 



112 VERSES. 

'Tis but a dark and dreary scene, 

This valley which we tread \ 
And few the years that intervene, 

Till numbered with the dead. 
Since thine — in fortune's smile to bask,— 
Still be it thine, the godlike task, 

A brother* s scantier store to swell ; 
O smile, where Misery droops the head ; 
By thee, be bashful Penury fed, 

And given in peace to dwell ! 

Hail, child of immortality ! 

Thus — ere life's sands are run, 
A heavenly crown is waiting thee, 

A better world begun ! 
When plumes heraldic deck thy hall, 
And yonder castle's 'scutcheon'd wall, 

Bids kindred dust to dust consign,— 
The patriot's praise thy dirge shall swell, 
The needy's sighs thy passing bell, 
With many a requiem " Fare-thee-well,"— 
Son of a noble line ! 



FIRST LOVE; 



OR, 



EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. 



A REVERIE, 

INSCRIBED TO MISS A G J- 



" The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact." 



jl e who have felt the tide of love 
Strong bounding through the breast, 

When, in the parlour, or the grove, 
The charmer's hand you prest ; — 



114 FIBST LOVE. 



When— eye to eye, and soul to soul, 

The soft enchantment grew, 
While, keen from orbs that ardent roll, 

Love's hot artillery flew j— 

When eagerly the struggling maid 

You snatch'd into your arms,— 
What thrills of bliss the soul pervade ! 

What paradise her charms ! 

Say, can on earth aught we enjoy, 

The least with this compare,— 
To fondle with our favourite coy, 

And press the modest fair ? 

Then boils the blood ',— the pulse beats high ;— 

Love's soft delirium steals 
Through every nerve •, — then speaks each sigh, 

And giddy reason reels. 



FIRST LOVE. 115 



Bliss, too refined for mortal man ; 

And hence, decreed by Heaven, 
That seldom in life's little span 

The genuine draught is given. 

Let generous youth, devoid of care, 
Bathe deep th' empurpled lip, 

And let the sentimental fair, 
The Paphian nectar sip : 

Ere stern Misfortune's dread command 
With tears the goblet swell j 

Or Poverty's all-chilling hand 
Dissolve the potent spell. 

Not love's quintessence, doubly steep' d,- 
When Fortune's frowns assail, — 

Nor Cyprus' groves, in incense heap'd, 
Can aught the wretch avail ! 



116 FIRST LOVE. 



Though far beyond the flowery bourne 

Of giddy, gay eighteen > 
Though other loves have had their turn, 

With many a pang between ;— 

Yet, Lucy, festering in my breast, 
Still bleeds the wound you gave \ 

On thee fond Memory loves to feast, 
Insatiate as the grave ! 

Still of thy image Fancy tells \ 
Thy soft attractions rare -, — 

On every feature fondly dwells, 
And finds ehjsium there ! 



FIRST LOVE. 



117 



Yes, — though in fitful fancy view'd, 
That smile has power to move j 

To think of Lucy fair and good, 
Re-kindles former love. 

And oft, at midnight's lonely hour, 

All pensive as I lay, 
I've bless'd the lovely vision's power 

To charm my griefs away. 

Is it a crime, pervading Power ! 

To utter strain like this ? 
Can we forget the blissful hour, 

Or her who form'd our bliss ? 

The coldest hermit, in his cell, 
Sighs o'er his youthful years, 

And, of his Delia loved so well, 
Some fond memorial bears. 

* * * * 

L 



O, TELL ME WHY. 









-" Oh, where can I find 



A charm that can chase this despair from my mind ? 
Can memory ? No— each past joy yields its sting, 
And hope, the last solace, no solace can bring." 



vJ, tell me why, thou peerless maid, 
No prayers can thy pity move \ 
Why, when the ardent vow is paid, 
The fondest pledge of slighted love, 
No kind return, no cheering smile, 
Kepays the tribute of a sigh ! 
No coy endearments, to beguile 
Hope's dubious gleam— O, tell me why ! 



0, TELL ME WHY. 



119 



Why darts on me that kindling eye, 
That withering look of cold disdain ? 
That bosom, form'd for sympathy, 
How can it mock a wretch's pain ? 
Is it that Mary, faithless fair, 
W ith sprightlier swain, and rival sly, 
Love's paradise prefers to share ? 
Ah, yes ! I've guess'd the reason why. 

But mark me, Mary ! — short's the glow 
That warms the gay seducer's breast ; 
And she, that breaks her plighted vow, 
By judging heaven can ne'er be blest. 
Even he thy weakness may deride, 
This youth, in time, thy presence fly 5— - 
Why so debased, once constant maid — >■ 
No longer mine ? — O, tell me why ! 

Curst be the coward heart that dared ! 
And curst that scoundrel tongue can tell ! 



120 O, TELL ME WHY. 



It snatch'd the cup heaven had prepared, 
And filPd it with the dregs of hell ! 
Yet thou wilt mourn thy Henry's fate, 
And to his clay bed frantic fly \ 
Weep o'er his wrongs, when, ah ! too late, 
And rue, till death, the reason why. 



THE 



GUSH OF THE FOUNTAIN. 



1 he sun on the mountain is sinking to rest, 
And radiant in gold is the glow of the west ; 
The song of the blackbird now melts on each spray, 
And the balmy- wing' d zephrys in sympathy play : 
How solemn and sweet is the rush of the rill, 
As in concert it moans with the breeze of the hill ! 
But the gush of that fountain is never so dear, 
Unless the fond smile of Maria be near, 

'What sound do I hear ? — 'tis the bittern's lone wail : 
No— louder and nearer it swells on the gale 5— 
l2 



122 THE GUSH OF THE FOTWTAIK. 

'Tis the voice of Maria ! — she bounds o'er the plain, 
And the pulse of dejection beats rapture again. 
In breathless confusion — in transports — we meet, 
And if love e'er was happy, our bliss was complete ; 
And O, but the gush of that fountain is dear, 
Now the heart-cheering smile of Maria is near ! 

We talk'd — and our words but our fondness reveal ; 
We felt — so as none but true lovers can feel : — 
Yet the look — if I'd pilfer one burning embrace — 
So touching — so pleading — that beam'd in her face, 
Would check the poor felon — and make him adore 
That angel he deem'd but a woman before ! — 
And O, but the gush of that fountain is dear, 
When the soul-stirring smile of Maria is near ! 

What means it — this tremor — this diffident sigh — 
With a heart on each lip, and a soul in each eye — ? 
Is the impulse of nature with duty combined ? 
Or bliss imperfection for mortals design' d ?— 



THE GUSH OF THE FOUNTAIN. 123 

Come tell me, what means it — this tremulous thrill — 
Impelling — repulsive — but paradise still ? — 
The gush of the fountain falls faint on the ear, 
As in fancy I feast on the lip of my dear ! 

The past — and the future — the world, and its aim — 
Its falsehood — its frailty — our bosoms disclaim \ 
Tho' seated on earth, yet translated to heaven, 
And the palms of the blest to our visions are given !— 
No longer, sweet bird, can I list your fond lay } 
Ye zephrys go dance to the song of the spray \ 
The gush of the fountain no longer I hear, 
Entranced as I pant on the lip of my dear ! 



LOVE LIES BLEEDING, 



ADDRESSED TO FLOEA. 



My Flora is the village pride, 
In female charms all maids exceeding, 

But ah ! no pity warms her breast, 
And at her feet poor Love lies bleeding. 

I only ciasp'd her lily hand, 
Esteem, and tried affection pleading, — 

Her pretty cheek grew pale with rage, 
And 'neath her frown poor Love lies bleeding ! 

I mark'd her piercing eye — and smile, — 
That halfjbrm'd smile my fondness feeding — 

With looks of deadliest hate she fled 
My eager grasp, — and Love lies bleeding ! 



LOVE LIES ELEEDIXG. 125 

Then cruel — pretty maid — adieu ! 
Some kinder fair, my passion heeding, 

May heal the wounds of little Love, 
At Flora's feet no longer bleeding* 



FLORA'S ANSWER. 



Axd what, alas ! should Flora say, 
In female charms hut Jew exceeding ? 

One faithful bosom beats for you — 
Look nearer home — there, Love lies bleeding. 

Your kindness and esteem I prize, 
AndJee/ 9 — though seemingly unheeding; 

Be still my generous guide, and friend, — 
But as for Love — he must lie bleeding. 



L26 LOVE LIES BLEEDING. 

Your little favourite still I'll be , 
And O, forgive my wayward breeding ; 

But, ever 'neath my keenest frown 
May lawless Love to death lie bleeding. 

And when I'm older — should some youth 
My favour gain — in honour pleading, — 

I'll hear his vow — for virtuous Love 
At Flora's feet shall ne'er lie bleeding. 



JULIA, 



Axd does he mind his parting vow, 

To live for me, and me alone ? 
Or to some turban* d beauty bow, 

With jewell'd vest, and silken zone ?-— 
No ! — • be that idle thought forgiven, 
My Henry's troth is seaPd in Heaven, 

Do India's groves one name prolong ? 

This love-fraught pang does Henry share ? 
Or chaunt my praise in matin song ? 

Or mind me in his evening prayer ?— 
O, bid th' enthusiast cease to roam, 
And send my bold adventurer home ! 



128 



JULIA. 



What though poor Julia's name be taught 

The echoes of another world ; 
There, the hot breeze with death is fraught, 

And there the poison' d shaft is hurl'd ! — 
Pure be the breeze that giyes him breath ; 
Erring and blunt the shaft of death ! 

Urging through dangerous wilds his ride, 
Where pards and furious tygers roam j 

And /, a huntress by his side, — 

Starts at our feet some beast of foam — ! 

Smiling, to Henry's aid I'd fly, 

Court the keen monster's fangs — and die ! 

Careering o'er the faithless deep — 

Should black'ning storms involve the skies, 
And round his bark destruction sweep — 

Star of the mariner, arise ! 
Brighten his course 'midst ocean's roar, 
To love and Julia the dear youth restore, — 
Nor fate, nor father's frown, should part us more ! 



THE ROSE. 



Welcome, welcome, pretty blossom, 
In my garden here to grow , 

I could bear thee in my bosom, 
Next a lover's heart to blow j 

Prize thee more than richest jewel, 
Or the brightest orient gem \ 

But, to thee, that boon were cruel, 
Sever'd from thy parent stem. 

M 



150 THE ROSE. 



Till matured in form and stature, 
Tarry midst thy native bowers, 

Glowing in the pride of nature, 
Fairest of thy sister flowers. 

There, no spoiler dares destroy thee, 
Prowling near thy envied grove \ 

Nor shall angry blast annoy thee, 
Shielded by the fence of love. 

There, let pretty maids caress thee, 
Mingling kindred sweets with thine j 

To their snowy bosoms press thee, 
Breathing love— but not like mine. 

Or should Harriet, careless straying, 
Deign beneath thy shade to rest, — 

All thy thousand sweets displaying, 
Cling thee to the fair one's breast. 



THE ROSE. 131 



But, should ruder hands assail thee, 
Or the selfish grasp of man, — 

In thy leafy mantle veil thee, 
Till the spoiler be withdrawn. 

Soft on balmy zephyrs leaning, 

Here, sweet rose, shall be thy bed \ 

Drink thee of the dews of evening, 
With Aurora's breath be fed. 

On thy mossy stem gay flaunting, 
Kiss'd by every breeze that blows,. 

Let me, 'midst thy perfumes panting, 
Seek oblivion to my woes. 

There, — by beauty's emblem, bleeding, 

Let a lover languish slow, 
Till the wintry blasts, unheeding, 

Lay thy leafy honours low. 



TO 



A YOUNG LADY, 

(iN ALLUSION TO THE FOBEGOIXG.) 



" But if in youth, our bosom's truth, 
Should meet with love's returning kisses, 

We're doubly bless'd, enrapt, caress'd, 
And life's a ceaseless flow of blisses." 



Deabest, if a taudry flower 
Of my garden be the pride, 

Ah ! how blest must be that bower 
Sees thee smile a blooming bride. 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 133 



Say, might I, a constant lover, 
Fondly hope that blessing mine I 

Endless raptures would discover 
How this heart is wed to thine. 

I would pull thee pretty posies, 
Plait a garland for thy hair \ 

Even my favourite bush of roses 
Owes a nosegay to my fair. 

But, o'erwhelm'd in heavenly splendour, 
Lest the shrinking flower should die >— 

Thou perhaps, supremely tender, 
May est, in mercy, pass it by.—*- 

Blended in that look imposing, 
Love and virtue sweetly dwell, 

Archly coyful, still disclosing 

Charms no mortal tongue can tell, 
m 2 



134? TO A YOUNG LADY. 



Yes !— ten thousand opening graces 

Burst upon the ravishM sight \ 
Where the youthful fancy traces 

All on earth that can delight. 

But alas ! why talk of pleasure 

While this aching bosom bleeds ? — 

Come, — my love !--- my life !— my treasure !- 
Let us to yon altar speed ! — 

Hear me !— from this bosom — never- 
Time thy image shall efface - 7 

Death, — and nought but death — shall ever 
Tear thee from my fond embrace ! 



i 



THE 



BLAZE OF BEWCASTLE. 



The feast was preparing — the troopers were gone, — 
Old Nixon, as warder, was watching alone \ 
The locks thin and snowy his temples that grace, 
And the moon-beam play'd soft on his war-beaten face. 

And ancient the chair of the sentinel's rest, 
And grisly the beard that flow'd grey on his breast $ 
But dreadful the dreams on his slumbers that stole, 
As the foray's famed chivalry haunted his soul : 



136 THE BLAZE OF BEWCASTLE. 

— u The Lochwood's young braggart, — and flower of 

his clan, — 
With torch and with lance through our gateway they 

ran, — 
Like furies they seized thee, — I waked at thy scream,— 
Matilda ! Matilda ! now read me my dream." 

" See rather thy rivals, in hopeless dismay, 
Sink fast 'neath our yeomen's resistless array j 
Go dream thee of plunder, — go tell of their fall,— 
For proudly our pennon now streams on their wall." 

The Johnstones were watching, — they spoke not a 

word, — 
Nor twang' d there a bow-string, — nor gleam'd there 

a sword, — 
The doors they have wickered, — and dismal the waij^ 
As the flames o'er the Bewcastle's rafters prevail. 



THE BLAZE OF BEWCASTLE. 157 

O, wild was her shriek, — and the look that she cast, — 
As her father's sear'd skull in a crevice stuck fast ! — 
" In thy turrets' red ruins, and daughter's death-scream^ 
Now Bewcastle, Bewcastle, read thee thy dream 1" 

And long will the Nixons remember the raid, 
And the wrongs of their fathers in vengeance repaid } 
And long, to their offspring, the mothers will tell 
How the blaze of the Bewcastle gleam' d o'er the fell \ 

How Matilda's singed locks in the ashes they found, 
'Midst the bones of old Nixon yet glowing around j— 
While deep on their march rose the savage huzza, 
" The Johnstones of Lochwood ! the Johnstones for 
ay!" 



THE 



BARD'S APOLOGY 



" Hard is the scholar's lot, condemned to sail 
Unpatronized, o'er life's tempestuous wave ; 

Clouds blind his sight ; nor blows a friendly gale, 
To waft him to one port— except the grave !" 

Penrose, 



Cto forth my songs — though small your claim 
To notice,—- though, nor noble name, 

Nor learnM, your rustic brow adorn, — 
Though keen the sneer of pedant Pride, 
Though haggard Envy should deride, 
And Ignorance at the bar preside, — 

Go forth, nor heed their scorn. 



the band's apology. 159 

Tell them — beneath a lowering sky, 
And fioutings of the vulgar, — I, 

A lonely gleaner on the waste, 
With palsied hand these Heath Flowers culi'd, 
(And a few weeds at random puliM,) 

Disposed in careless haste. 

Tell them,— ^though paltry to the view, 
Some tiny plants, — though wan of hue, 

And worthless quite, may intervene, — 
Yet here and there some woodland gem, 
And fragment of a nobler stem^ 

Oft rears its pride between. 

Unlike those sense-delighting flowers, 
Gathered in gay Parnassian bowers 

By votaries at a mightier shrine }— 
Should Mary, yet, the offering take, 
And with the wreath, for Colin's sake, 

Her ruddy brow entwine \ — 



14Q THE BARB'S APOLOGt. 

Or should, its rustic hues to trace, 
Some high-born dame the posy place 

By gay toilette, or grand saloon ; — 
How would the Bard, by preference proud, 
Smile on his labours well bestow'd, 

And hail the flattering boon ! 

Or might, — in condescension pure, — 
By chance — some noble connoiseur 

These unassuming tints survey ? — 
j^h no | — such gleaners he would chide, 
In pomp of patrimonial pride \ 

And fling them, vile, away ! 



What His, with stifled scorn, to brook 
The stern aristocratic look 

That Pride on humble merit throws 
The cautious promise half-preferr'd, 
The sickening pang of hope deferred, 

Full well the Minstrel knows. 



THE BARD'S APOLOGY. 141 



The sport of fate,— the great man's scorn,— 
Neglected by the vulgar born, — 

Defrauded of his rightful bread * ? — 
W hat wonder though his lays be dull, 
^ hat, though his stubborn heart be full, 

And native vigour fled ! 

Oft, in the bitterness of soul, 

Well pleased he'd hail his death-bell's toll, 

By insult half to frenzy driven ; 
Well pleased — unpitied and unknown, 
He'd wish his weary soul were flown 

To find repose in Heaven ! 

Go to— thou moody harper— go ! 
Nor cherish unavailing woe ; 

W hat boots it that a man complain ? 

Hark ! how yon village beauty gay, 
Carols, well pleased, thy moorland lay, 

And kindles at the strain J 



142 



THE BAUD S APOLOGY. 






11 Welcome, thou wayward bard !" she cries \ 
" Chaste are thy Mountain Melodies, 

To nature true, devoid of art ', 
- Each cabinet thy page shall grace, 
Where oft the conscious maid shall trace 

The language of the heart." 

Triumph " devoutly to be wish'd I" 
The Muse, by adulation flush'd 

Once more might stretch th' advent'rous wing. 
Some favourite beauty's smiles and tears, — 
The tragic tale, — love's hopes and fears, — 

Right vacantly to sing. 

Yes, — still to love and virtue true, 
Let me th' endearing theme pursue *, 

Yet chasten'd by this guileless prayer, — 
If e'er one prurient page should throw 
O'er beauty's cheek the crimson glow, 

Insulting to the fair \ — 



the bard's apology, 145 

Or if, — to pilfer high regard, 
The fawning poet e'er has dared 

To prostitute the muse's flame ; — 
Be mute as death, thou recreant lyre ! 
Ye lays, unbreath'd of Heaven's own lire, 
On worse than savage ears expire j 

And perish earthly fame ! 



END. 



Jedburgh : 
Printed by W. Easton & W. Rcnwick. 



FEB 1 



ai«5t 










■i * 






v 



•p, 



& 



W 










'. s. '■ ^ N - 









y </> 






CT < ' o * x * A 



O. 



,^ . 



K\ 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: May 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 



x - 



* & 



\ 






- 






A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 






*. o. 






0° * 


















^ \ 



























-7 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 528 533 



